


Undeniable

by writerchick0214



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Awesome Phil, Belly Kink, Injury, Insecure Clint, M/M, Physical Therapy, Tony is a jerk-on accident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 08:55:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerchick0214/pseuds/writerchick0214
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Clint breaks his femur during a mission he's laid up for half a year. During this time he gains a little weight and grows self-conscious about it. After Tony makes an off-hand comment about it, Clint thinks Phil will no longer find him attractive. </p>
<p>Phil takes the time to show him just how wrong he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undeniable

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what prompted this but I was dying to see Phil loving on Clint with a little bit of a belly. So...I sat down and wrote this tonight. I didn't edit very carefully so please excuse all mistakes. 
> 
> HUGE thanks TheSparrow93 for all her support on this one.

            “Agent Barton,” Doctor Lane scolds, snapping Clint out of his daze, “You need to _calm down_.”

            “Need to get back in the field,” Clint says, trying to even out his breathing.

            His entire body is shaking under the strain of keeping upright, the balance beam below him a quivering mess. Clint curses, arms held out to his side in a sad attempt to stay level but his leg gives and he falls, tumbling into a medicine ball and landing flat on his back. It takes a minute to calculate his limbs, ensuring nothing was damaged and he was ok-besides the ache that was now radiating down his entire left side.

            Doctor Lane rushes to his side, kneeling down with a gentle hand on his left knee. She begins to massage and prod his leg, her fingers hitting sore spots that Clint does his best to ignore. He’s gasping for air, arm thrown over his eyes to hide his embarrassment more than anything. Lane is talking but Clint can’t hear anything but the loud thudding of his heart and his own harsh breathing.

            “If you keep pushing yourself like this you’ll do more harm than good,” Doctor Lane tells him when Clint can finally focus again.

            Clint doesn’t respond, pushing himself up with a wince to limp where his cane is resting against the wall. Lane is giving him instructions, telling him how to spend the next couple of days until their next session, with strict instructions to take it easy. He gives her a nod and a polite goodbye as he leaves, head down in frustration and shame. The cane clacks on the tile floors as Clint walks, moving as quickly as his leg will allow him. Clint is soaked head to toe in sweat and his muscles throb as though he had just run a marathon despite the fact that he had only spent an hour doing light exercise.

            His floor is mercifully empty, Phil still at SHIELD HQ and the others down in the common area. Clint shoves through the apartment, ignoring the ever-growing pain and finally makes it into the bathroom. It still smells like Phil’s aftershave and it immediately calms him, hands braced on the counter as he takes a moment to calm down. He looks at himself in the mirror, taking in the circles under his eyes and the puffiness of his cheeks that wasn’t there before he was injured.

            Slipping out his clothes Clint stares at himself in the mirror for a second, running a hand down his torso to cup the small pooch he had developed just below his belly button. Most of the definition was gone from his stomach and legs and for the first time in his life Clint wasn’t pure muscle; baggy shirts and sweats seemed masked the weight gain from the others but he was beating himself up about it. A long scar ran up the length of his left thigh, healed but still an angry pink, a sick reminder of the broken femur he suffered half a year ago during an Avengers mission.

            Tearing his gaze from the mirror with a frown, Clint turns on the shower and struggles to step in, immediately sinking to the ground. He sits with his bad leg stretched out in front of him, letting the hot water pound down on his shoulders as he stares at nothing. After what feels like hours Jarvis lets him know that dinner is going to be ready soon so he cleans himself with military precision, eager to be out and dressed before Phil gets home. Unable to bring himself to look in his closet at jeans he’s sure no longer fit he slips into a clean pair of black sweatpants and a baggy SHIELD issue tee-shirt, not bothering to do anything with his hair. 

            It takes Clint a lot longer than normal to get to the common area, his leg shaking with every step. His grip on the cane is so tight his fingers are cramping but he just holds on tighter, giving everyone a smile when he enters the dining area. Everyone is gathered around the dinner table talking, smiles and laughs filling the room. They greet Clint when he enters so he nods at them, giving Phil a kiss when he sits.

            “How was physical therapy?” Phil asks and Clint tries to contain his grimace. “That bad?”

            “It was fine.” Clint lies even though Phil can always tell when he isn’t being truthful.

            Phil gives him a look but doesn’t say anything, leaning in to kiss the corner of Clint’s mouth.

            “I made your favorite,” Bruce says with a smile, gesturing towards the three huge dishes of homemade lasagna.  

            Clint beams, inhaling deeply. “You didn’t have to,” he says, but fills his plate anyways.

            “It’s the least I can do.” Bruce looks sad then, eyes wide and uncertain.

            “You didn’t _do_ anything,” Clint reassures for the millionth time, already eating.

            When Clint had been forced to jump off the roof of a very tall building to avoid being blown up he was sure he was plummeting to his death only to be snatched from the air by the Hulk. Hulk had held him close and asked if Cupid was alright, but the Big Guy wasn’t really known for being gentle. While a broken femur was far better than the inevitable death the impact with the concrete would have caused, Bruce had felt guilty ever since.

            Everything settles after that, Thor telling tales of his battles in Asgard. Steve still blushed every time Tony swore and Phil still blushed every time Steve looked his way. The others drank wine but Clint, who was still taking some serious pain medication, stuck to water, clinking glasses with Bruce’s juice-filled cup. Feeling ravenous after PT, Clint has just started in on his third helping when it happens.

            “Damn Katniss,” Tony says with a laugh, leaning into Pepper’s side, “you might want to take a second to breathe over there. You already can’t fit in your jeans.”

            Everyone stops, the sound of silverware clinking against plates loud in the now-silent room. Clint’s fork is frozen halfway to his mouth and he looks around, feeling his face heat up.

            “Tony!” Pepper scolds, jaw dropped in shock.

            “What?” Tony asks, throwing his hands up. “The guy’s packed on a few…just thought I should let him know.”

            “That is incredibly rude,” Bruce says, looking between Tony and Clint nervously.

            “I-” Clint starts but stops, setting his fork down slowly. His hand goes to his stomach, feeling the dreaded pooch beneath his shirt.

            Phil’s hand on his shoulder startles Clint enough to make him jump which he instantly regrets, shoving away from the table with a grunt. He forgets his leg for a second and proceeds to trips, just barely catching himself on the back of his chair. Clint hears a few people stand, their chairs scratching against the floor as they door, and he wants to leave before anyone asks him if he’s alright. Snatching his cane up he limps away, throwing a dismissing hand over his shoulder when Phil calls his name. Clint’s face is hot and he feels a little dizzy and he loses track of time until he’s suddenly stepping off the elevator onto his and Phil’s floor.

            Once he’s inside Clint throws his cane, satisfied when it breaks a vase that was a gift from Tony. After a long, painful and embarrassing day of almost no progress in the gym and then PT the last thing he needed was Tony ragging on him about the weight he had gained. Clint asks Jarvis to lock the doors but Phil knows the override codes since it’s his apartment as well and only minutes later he’s entering, by Clint’s side in a second.

            “Clint.” Phil says but nothing more, a firm hand on the back of Clint’s neck more than enough.

            “It’s nothing,” Clint tries to dissuade Phil.

            “It isn’t ‘nothing’,” Phil says. “And you haven’t been yourself recently. What’s wrong?”

            Clint shakes his head, pulling away to sit on their bed. Phil follows without having to be asked, sitting close enough for Clint to feel his warmth but far enough away they weren’t touching. Clint looks down at his hands, lying awkwardly in his lap, and does the only thing he thinks could distract Phil-he kisses him. It’s soft at first, just lips touching, but Clint pushes harder, slipping his tongue inside Phil’s mouth. Moaning, Phil’s hand grasps the back of his neck again, holding him in place.

            When Clint is tipped backwards he has to heave his leg onto the bed carefully, arranging it so Phil won’t be on top of it. Phil covers Clint’s body with his own, trailing kisses down his neck. Clint is only half hard so he wriggles around until he’s in a position so Phil won’t feel, grasping at the back of Phil’s shirt so hard he thinks he might tear the fabric. He stops Phil when he feels his shirt being pulled up, holding up a finger to tell Phil to hang on a second while he asks Jarvis to dim the lights.

            “Clint…” Phil’s head tilts to the side curiously.

            Clint smiles at Phil, pulling his shirt over his head to toss to the side and then removes Phil’s as well. They lay back down but this time Phil is on his side tucked against Clint’s side. Their kisses are gentle when Clint turns his head to capture Phil’s lips, the tenderness enough to almost choke him up. Phil’s hand comes up to rest on Clint’s neck, moving slowly down until his fingertips are braced against Clint’s collarbone. Clint resisted the urge to flinch away, squeezing his eyes shut against the feeling. Phil leans in closer to pepper kisses along Clint’s neck, eyelashes fluttering softly along his skin.

            Phil whispers Clint’s name when his hand starts to travel lower, grazing a nipple along the way. With a jolt of panic Clint grabs Phil’s wrist, halting all movement. Everything is still then, Clint’s eyes snapping open in alarm. Phil rises up on his elbows, blinking down at Clint in the dark.

            “It’s alright,” Clint says frantically, trying to bring Phil in for another kiss.

            Phil resists.

            “No it isn’t.” Phil is firm this time, pulling his wrist from Clint’s grasp to cup his face.

            Clint huffs, angry, and tries to move away from his husband. Once he’s sitting he realizes his cane is on the other side of his room and his thigh is cramping up so he just slouches, holding his head in his hands. The bed dips when Phil moves and Clint can tell without looking at the older man is kneeling behind him, hands hovering over Clint’s shoulders. Phil lowers his head until it’s resting in the crook of Clint’s neck, face turn in to kiss his jaw.

            “Tell me what’s wrong,” Phil whispers.

            Clint can tell Phil wants to wrap his arms around his waist.

            He’s glad he doesn’t.

            “I need to get back in the field,” Clint says even though that’s not anywhere near what he had planned in his head. “I’ve been laid up for almost seven months and I’m not close to where I want to be.”

            Phil sighs quietly, scooting a little closer. “You’re doing better than the therapists estimated,” he reminds.

            “That doesn’t mean anything.” Clint is angry. “What good is a fat, crippled sniper?”

            Phil makes a pained sound and lifts a hand to card through Clint’s messy hair. “I knew this was about your weight.”

            “Oh my God,” Clint chokes out, appalled. “Is the weight gain really that noticeable?”

            “Only because you’re always in perfect shape,” Phil says honestly and even though it sounds nothing like Tony’s taunting words it still hurts.

            “Why didn’t you _tell_ me,” Clint cries out, eyes searching for his shirt.

            “Baby,” Phil says and Clint wants to slap him for being so sweet, “you’ve been laid up for half a year…a little weight gain is normal.”

            “Not for me,” Clint counters. “Not for someone who has to keep up with a bunch of fucking superheroes. I haven’t been this out of shape since before I picked up a bow.”

            “You’ll lose it all once you’re done with physical therapy.” Phil says, rising a hand on Clint’s arm. “Besides, you still look amazing.”

            “Don’t patronize me,” Clint snarls. “It isn’t funny and I don’t appreciate it.”

            Phil’s chuckle grates on Clint’s nerves. “Would I lie to you? I still think you’re the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

            Clint looks at the wall while he soaks up Phil’s words, hands clenching and unclenching where they rest on his thighs. Phil is still behind him, a comforting weight at his back, and the older man has started kissing Clint’s neck again. He’s careful and deliberately slow, hands snaking up and down Clint’s arms until they’re on his shoulders and sliding down. Clint tenses but doesn’t stop Phil this time, allowing the older man to touch his chest and stomach, swallowing hard when Phil cups the new weight there.

            Clint almost elbows Phil when he squeezes his handful but he resists, just barely, and holds his breath while he waits for a reaction. Phil lets out a shuddering breath against Clint’s cheek, pressing up against his back so Clint can feel how hard he is. Clint cranes his neck to look at Phil feeling uncertain in a way he never has before. When they kiss he wants to cry, arching his back for a better angle. Phil takes full advantage of Clint’s outstretched body, running his hands greedily over the exposed flesh. He takes turns pinching Clint’s nipples and squeezing Clint’s tummy.

            “You’re gorgeous,” Phil whispered into Clint’s mouth.

            Clint shakes his head. “You’re just saying that.”

            Phil moves out from behind Clint, dropping to his knees on the floor. Clint’s sweatpants are off quickly, the air a little cool on his naked body, but Phil’s hands are on him before the chill can set in. He leans down to kiss Clint’s scar and then up, nosing at the crease where thigh and pelvis meets. Clint shudders, hands burying in Phil’s thin hair as he tries to control his emotions. He’s still only half hard when Phil kisses the tip of his dick and it twitches with interest, Clint’s body relaxing a fraction.

            Standing, Phil eases out of his own pants, folding them carefully before crawling on the bed, urging Clint to lie on the pillows. Once Clint is as comfortable as he thinks he can get he starts to tug the blanket over his naked body, glaring when Phil stops him.

            “I want to see you,” Phil says reaching into the bedside table for the lube.

            Clint realizes it’s more than half-full and hasn’t been used since before his accident.

            Phil settles on his belly between Clint’s legs, kissing the inside of Clint’s thigh. Clint takes a deep breath, hands fisting in the sheets below him and his toes curl in a strange mix of arousal and discomfort. Phil puts a pillow under Clint’s hips and traces one finger just behind his balls, applying just a hint of pressure. Clint sucks in a sharp breath, pushing down a little against the finger; he can feel himself growing harder but there’s still something that’s keeping him from letting go.

            “Relax,” Phil says softly, rubbing a hand over Clint’s stomach.

            Clint’s muscles twitch under the touch and he has to fidget around for a second to get comfortable again. Phil kisses his leg again and slips his finger inside the same time he nips at the skin just below Clint’s belly button. Clint is torn between a moan and a yelp and the resulting sound is loud and awkward but Phil groans happily, nuzzling his face against Clint’s belly. Phil adds another finger quickly, giving Clint the stretch and burn he prefers, but his other actions are slow and deliberate. He crooks his fingers and licks a stripe up Clint’s cock from root to tips, swallowing him whole and Clint feels himself growing gloriously, thankfully hard. Phil’s hands wander to Clint’s thighs, gripping tightly at them and Clint can feel the fat he’s accumulated being squeezed against his fingertips. Clint opens his mouth to protest but Phil kneads the flesh of his thighs and moans, taking Clint down his throat until his nose is brushing the coarse hair at the base of Clint’s cock.

            Clint almost doesn’t notice when Phil slips in a third, slick finger he’s so turned on. He’s sweating again but not from pain, the air in the room beginning to feel stifling. He wants to ask Jarvis to lower the temperature but can’t seem to make the words. Phil pulls off just when Clint starts to feel his orgasm building, cheeks flushed and chest heaving and there’s a small smile on his face that makes Clint’s heart melt.

            “Let’s go to the hot tub,” Phil says, which is the last thing Clint expects him to say. Clint tells him as much. “Your therapist said the hot water is good for your leg.”

            “What about…” Clint gestures at their naked bodies.

            “Well, we can just continue in there, can’t we?” Phil smirks and stands, holding a hand out for Clint to take.

            Phil makes it seem like a casual, polite gesture but Clint knows it’s really for Clint’s benefit since his cane isn’t handy. He takes Phil’s hand anyways, leaning in so their bodies are touching and he can kiss Phil’s cheek. They stand there for a while just holding each other, hands wandering lazily; Clint tries pretends it doesn’t bother him when Phil’s hands glide over the slight love handles he’s acquired recently but when Phil holds on to pull him closer he pulls away.

            “Don’t do that,” Clint requests quietly, not meeting Phil’s eye.

            “What?” Phil asks, squeezing again. “This?”

            “ _Yes_ ,” Clint hisses.

            “What if I like it?” Phil does it again and pulls so their groins are flush, erections touching and sliding together the way Clint loves.

            Clint shakes his head. “You don’t, so you don’t have to keep saying that.”

            Phil raises an eyebrow. “And how do you know I don’t?”

            “Because…” Clint pauses, looking at Phil. “Because I don’t usually look like this.”

            “So?” Phil asks, one of his hands snaking down to grab hold of Clint’s ass. “I love your body, don’t get me wrong-you’re so trim and fit and take so much pride in the work you put into it. But I have to admit, seeing you a little softer is undeniably arousing.”

            “I’ve never looked like this before,” Clint admits, ducking his head to rest it against Phil’s collarbone. “I don’t like what I see when I look in the mirror, and I didn’t think you did either.”

            “I’ll love you no matter what.” Phil sounds honest and sure, which never fails to throw Clint for a loop. “But trust me; I’m not just saying these things to make you feel better. I’m legitimately enjoying having a little more to, ah…grab.”

            Jarvis apologizes for interrupting, informing them that the hot tub is ready and to their preset temperature. Phil thanks him politely, asking him to dim the lights (which Clint is grateful for) and then leads them through the bathroom to the hot tub Tony had installed while they were away on a mission. The room was comfortably warm and steamy and the second Clint is seated he lets out a relieved sigh, stretching his leg out. Phil follows but doesn’t sit, moving to stand in front of Clint. He spreads Clint’s legs and steps between them, pulling the one that isn’t healing up and around his waist.

            Clint chuckles self-consciously as he slides forward a bit, ass at the edge of the bench. Phil smiles down at him, cradling the back of Clint’s head when he leans in for a kiss. Clint moans, pulling Phil in closer until he’s nudging against Clint’s entrance. His heart begins to race, nervous and excited and hoping he lasts more than three seconds once they start since this is the first time they’ve done anything more than kissing since Clint was hurt. Phil slowly pushes in, pushing forward with tiny thrusts of his hips so Clint can feel every centimeter of it until he’s buried to the hilt. Eyes shut tight, body trembling, Clint whimpers into Phil’s mouth and begs for more-for anything Phil can give him.

            “I’ve got you,” Phil says confidently, pulling out an inch only to push back in, “Always.”

             Clint cries out, biting Phil’s lip to stifle the embarrassing sounds he knows are bubbling beneath the surface, but Phil pulls away and says he wants to hear Clint. The water is hot and soothing, keeping Clint’s leg from cramping up and easting any remaining tension in his body, allowing him to truly enjoy what was happening. Phil’s thrusts are slow but firm, hitting Clint in all the right places. When Phil lifts Clint’s good leg a little higher it bends Clint back a little, his stomach bunching with the movement. Haphazardly he throws an arm over the protrusion, hoping Phil won’t notice.

            “Don’t.” Phil’s tone is commanding and Clint does as he’s told, tilting his head back when Phil’s hips jerk particularly hard.

            Phil’s hand is slippery on his skin, touching every inch of Clint’s body he can reach. His fingers tickle Clint’s throat, causing Clint to lean back even farther until the back of his head is resting on the concrete floor.

            “Phil,” Clint gasps, moving as much as his leg will let him. “God-Phil.”

            “I know,” Phil says.

He’s panting and moaning and Clint tries to keep his eyes open to watch Phil fall apart but he can’t. Phil rubs his thumb along Clint’s bottom lip once before running along Clint’s cheekbone, which is now less defined than it used to be. Clint leans into it, rubbing his cheek against Phil’s palm. Clint is close but when Phil bites harshly where neck and shoulder meet he can’t form the words to warn him. Phil seems to know though, because he removes his hand from Clint’s cheek and to wrap it around his cock, stroking in time with his thrusts.

Clint comes two strokes later with Phil’s name on his lips, Phil following not long after and they lay there panting against each other.

 

            Phil dries them off and leads Clint back to their room where he crawls, naked, under the covers. He stretches out on his good side, dozing lightly until Phil wraps around him from behind. Clint leans back into him, accepting Phil’s sleepy kiss.

            “I love you,” he tells Phil, voice hoarse with fatigue.

            Phil curls a hand around Clint’s lower stomach. “I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! I was actually really excited about this one.


End file.
